


Disturb the Universe

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, M/M, Moving On, Past Relationships, Therapy, Time Stamp Fic, ZImbits endgame, bad relationships, established relationships - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 04:52:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11074434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Villains are the heroes of their own story.Jack has been both hero and villain, but he doesn't want to be.  He doesn't want to live his life with that duality.  He just wants to exist, and move on, and be happy.





	Disturb the Universe

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of me working through some shit.

_Do I dare_  
Disturb the universe  
In a minute there is time  
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.  
TS Elliot 

***

When he was little, before he had words like ‘anxiety’ and ‘panic attacks’, he called them, ‘bad feelings’. They were gut-wrenching, heart-racing. He would crawl into his papa or mama’s lap, and push his face against their chest and whisper, “I think I’m feeling someone dying.”

He believed that, for the longest time. That this feeling of being pulled from his body, his lungs trying to find breath, his heart trying to beat out from behind his ribs, was him connecting to a person who was dying. He didn’t know why he felt that way, and the first time he confessed—in a small, broken whimper—his mother made his first therapy appointment.

Jack Zimmermann grew up under public scrutiny, strangers with everything and nothing to say about everything and nothing he did. He wasn’t attractive enough to be the son of Alicia Zimmermann. He wasn’t athletic enough to be the son of Bad Bob. He was too sensitive, too shy, too quiet.

Too anxious.

Jack often wondered if it was them—those anonymous critics whispering in his ears, writing about him in articles—that created his anxiety. Or if perhaps it would have always been there, and they just preyed upon what was weakest.

It made him tired, but he had pills, and eventually he had Kenny, and he stopped curling up in his father’s arms whispering about death.

He started to pour himself into the only two things that mattered—hockey, and Kent Parson. Kent, whose life was worse than Jack’s, and Kent never let a moment go by without reminding Jack of that. His father was gone, his mother worked three jobs, he was broke, and he was alone, and the only thing he had was hockey—and even that wasn’t good enough, not when Jack was better.

He would tell Jack, quietly in their billet room when the world was asleep, “If it wasn’t for you, I don’t think I could do this, Zimms.”

Jack was never sure if it was love, or if it was competition, and the lines were so blurred between the two he wasn’t sure he’d ever sort it out. And he wasn’t sure Kent ever would.

But every time Jack started to succeed, Kent was there to humble him. At least, that’s how Jack thought it was. Jack would make a game-winning goal, and Kent’s depression would sky-rocket. Suddenly Jack had to give anything and everything to keep Kent there, present, with him. Alive.

The responsibility weighed on him.

Some nights were better. Some nights were Kent curled round him, whispering into his ear, “I never want to be away from you, Zimms. You’re everything.”

Sometimes it was worse.

“I hate you. All you do is make me miserable. You resent your dad for what? Loving you? Do you know how self-centred and narcissistic you sound?” 

The lines blurred and blurred until everything was a mottled grey and Jack didn’t know up from down, and the only thing that made it bearable was the pills.

Which, ironically, sent it all crashing down.

*** 

“I can’t speculate on whether or not Kent Parson is mentally ill,” his therapist told him. He was in out-patient rehab, intensive therapy. He was still on meds, better ones, monitored even though they believed him the over dose wasn’t deliberate—he wasn’t trying to die, he was just trying to make everything stop. “But in the end, at least where you’re concerned, Jack, that’s not important.”

“He always joked about being the villain,” Jack said, his voice soft, too soft. He blinked back tears. “I didn’t want that. I didn’t think I…I didn’t think I had to have one.”

“A villain?” she asked.

Jack nodded. His hands were between his knees, his fingers in motion—stimming, soothing him.

“Not every story needs a villain, Jack. Do you know that?”

Jack shrugged, still saying nothing.

After a moment, she sighed. “You can’t apply duality to people like that. Well…you can, and some people can’t help that. And maybe Kent can’t help himself from seeing that in himself, or maybe other people. But life is more than being inherently good, and inherently bad. No one is the sum of their worst deed, and no one is the sum of their best. Does that make sense?”

Jack shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“That’s alright,” she said. “You don’t have to know right now.”

*** 

It made sense later.

Kent wasn’t all bad, but it didn’t mean he’d ever be any good for Jack.

And every villain is the hero of their own story.

*** 

Jack had been the villain before, once or twice. He supposed he was, in a way, to Kent. Even when they were together Kent was able to flip him between both roles so effortlessly that Jack lost track of what he was supposed to be—who he was supposed to be.

He was the villain once, to Bittle. Angry, confused. Jealous, though it took him a while to recognise it, to accept it. He didn’t deal well with being jealous. And Bittle was just…so much.

He was bright, and happy, and unapologetically himself. And when he was falling apart on the ice he accepted it about himself, and he was sorry, but he didn’t seem to feel guilty and that shook Jack to his core. Because everything Jack did, every failure and every accomplishment, was lined with so much guilt. For what he nearly threw away, for what he’d never been able to do, for the pain he caused his parents.

He lashed out, and he became the bad guy until he realised he didn’t want to live like that.

He didn’t want to be the villain in anyone’s story. He might never stop being Kent’s, but that was something he knew he could never help.

But with Bittle…

It was time to stop.

*** 

It was exactly seventy-two hours since Epikegster. He was at home, and nowhere near Kent, and he was safe.

And he was on the kitchen floor, his back pressed to the cabinets, having a panic attack.

He wasn’t sure when his father came in, or how he managed to wrap himself around Jack and make Jack feel small, and safe. But he’d done it. Parenting magic, Jack thought, and laughed to himself, even as he nearly shook apart.

When it was over, a small piece of Jack thought, ‘maybe I should be embarrassed, maybe I should be ashamed of this.’

His dad kissed him on the forehead, and helped him up. He got a glass of water, and went to bed, and fell asleep staring at the small post-it note from Bitty which he’d hung up on the edge of his bedside lamp.

*** 

“Kent and I both owe each other a lot of apologies.”

It was a little bit of an excuse really, to not talk about it, and Bitty had never pressed the issue again. Not after becoming friends, and not after Jack had run across campus to take Bitty’s face between his hands and kiss him until neither of them could breathe.

Bitty didn’t ask when Jack was in Madison for the fourth of July. And Bitty didn’t ask when he spent two weeks in Providence with Jack, decorating his apartment, and baking him pies, and fucking him into the couch cushions.

It wasn’t until after the second game against the Aces, until Jack came back from Vegas a shaking mess because Kent had cornered him in the underground corridor which led to the parking garage and demanded, “When are you going to let me back in?”

Jack had said nothing. Somehow he’d managed a dead stare, and total silence, and it wasn’t until he got on the bus that he let himself shake apart.

No one noticed, and Jack—at the time—was grateful for it.

Bitty had been waiting for him in his bed when he got back.

Jack wasn’t a crier—neither of them were criers. Jack had seen Bitty tear up a few times, openly weep twice, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever let himself break down in front of Bitty before. Only now there seemed to be no stopping it, and he let it out.

In a way, he realised what it was. He wasn’t scared, he wasn’t sad. It was the moment in that tunnel when Kent had looked at him with expectations of something, and Jack realised he had nothing. There would never be anything, because Jack was getting better, and he was safe, and he was happy, and he was loved.

And he couldn’t be whatever Kent was looking for.

“It’s over,” Jack said, speaking against Bitty’s neck.

Bitty’s fingers, brushing through Jack’s hair, stilled. “What is?”

Jack took a breath, pushing himself up to stare at Bitty. His hand reached out, brushing against the mottled pink blush on Bitty’s cheeks. “For a long time I thought maybe Kent and I would work through…whatever it was we had. Not…not to be…whatever we were before. Not boyfriends, we were never that but…we had something. I used to think we could be friends, I thought maybe what we had was…on some level, good for me?”

“Sweetheart,” Bitty began, but hushed when he realised Jack wasn’t done.

“I thought I had to be with him to help keep him together,” Jack carried on. “Like if I didn’t offer him something, he’d float away. I couldn’t let myself be yet another name in the long list of people who abandoned him. It was up to me to make it alright, and so I never…I never let go. I never considered that I couldn’t be that, because it was bad for me.” Jack relaxed against the pillows, and speaking all this hurt, but it also felt like a weight off.

“Well, you know how I feel about him,” Bitty said, just the barest heat in his voice.

Jack let himself smile, just the hint of a chuckle. “I know, bud. And maybe you don’t have to be hard on him on my behalf because maybe I let this carry on longer than I needed to. Which was…probably worse for him in the end. I don’t want to be the bad guy, Bits.”

“Oh honey, oh Jack you’re not.” There was an edge in Bitty’s voice, slight panic, and he reached for Jack’s hand, clasping one between both of his own.

“I was. I think I always will be in Kent’s life. I think he’ll be happy one day. I don’t know if he’ll let go—I don’t know if he can let go, but I have to stop letting that be my problem, because it’s not good for me, and I have to put myself first.”

“Yes,” Bitty said hotly.

“And we’ll always cross paths. At least for as long as the two of us are playing. And there’s a chance he could get traded here, or closer or…that I could…”

“Cross that bridge when you come to it,” Bitty murmured.

Jack brought Bitty’s hands to his mouth, raining kisses across his knuckles. “You are the first time I realised I don’t have to be one or the other. Hero or villain. I can just…be a person. I’m not all good, or all bad.”

Bitty’s eyes were wet and shiny, though no tears fell. “I love you, you know that, right?”

Jack laughed, breaking Bitty’s hold on him to cup his cheek. “I know that.”

“Alright.”

Jack closed his eyes, breathing out, pulling Bitty close so the warm weight of his boyfriend comforted and soothed him. “I’m sorry. I know that was a lot to put on you.”

“Nothing to apologise for, sweetpea,” Bitty murmured, tucking his face in close against the side of Jack’s neck. His breath was coming in warm puffs against Jack’s skin, keeping him present, grounded. “You don’t have to apologise for making progress, or for feeling things.”

“I didn’t want to hurt him,” Jack said after a while. “But I can’t be what he needs. And I don’t…I don’t want to be. I think that’s the most profound thing I’ve realised. I looked at him in the tunnel and I realised I didn’t want it. I didn’t want to be the one to make it better. Not through friendship or…anything else. I don’t want to be his hero, I don’t want to be his villain. I don’t want to be his anything.”

“You don’t have to be. You do know that, don’t you?”

“Ouais, mon bé,” Jack said, and smiled because he did know. “I’m trying to…move past that feeling of responsibility.”

“Parse is a grown-ass man, Jack. And I don’t know much about him—don’t know if he’s spent time tryin’ to get help or get better or move on. But it’s not your job to make sure that happens. Not when it hurts you like this.”

Jack breathed, closed his eyes, sighed. “I think he’ll be happy one day. He deserves that.” Jack turned, cupping Bitty’s cheek again, kissing him and drawing it out and out and out. “I’m happy.”

Bitty smiled against Jack’s lips. “That’s real good, sweetheart. I am too.”

*** 

Jack thinks Kent’s moved on. It’s been a few years since he’s gotten messages, and no surprise visits. They don’t make eye contact on the ice, they don’t talk about each other in the press. The worst hasn’t happened—neither one of them has been traded.

Jack’s getting married, and he’s still got the A for the Falcs. His team knows about Bitty, and they’re coming out this summer just before the wedding.

Bitty wants to adopt, and Jack is fine with anything, so long as they get to start a family.

It’s been a long time since he’s thought about the Q, about Kent, about any of it. It’s been a long time since he’s felt like he needs to. He hasn’t thought about heroes and villains in so long.

**Author's Note:**

> Kent isn't a villain. But Kent is toxic for Jack. And those relationships exist IRL.


End file.
